


Spyhatty Business: rebel - physician - officer -spy - oh my

by esteven



Category: Master and Commander - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteven/pseuds/esteven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reply to this meme prompt:<br/><i>In Master and Commander there's no mention at all of any intelligence-work. Then, rather suddenly, Stephen is up to his ears in skulduggery. How and when and by whom did he get roped in?</i></p><p>*smiles at ferox for her beta duty*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spyhatty Business: rebel - physician - officer -spy - oh my

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feroxargentea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/gifts).



> This fic contains excerpts from two books: _Master and Commander_ and _Thirteen-Gun Salute_ , The quotes are in italics and, like Jack and Stephen, belong to Patrick O'Brian

Even in the dark Stephen would not have _missed this path. It wound up, crossing and recrossing the stream, its steps kept open by the odd fisherman after crayfish, the impotent men going to bathe in the pool and by a few other travellers; and his hand reached out of itself for the branch that would help him over a deep place - a branch polished by many hands. Up and up: and the warm air sighing through the pines_. He watched the boats below for a while and then sat down _by a great stone. The friend had been a mere pretext_ for this retreat into the country.

He smiled; the conversation with Aubrey about fresh water had offered him the perfect opportunity to leave the ship for a few hours without arousing suspicion. Not that he had anything to hide, but _Sophie_ was small and cramped and he had been missing the wide open spaces and the solitude of the countryside for some time. The commander had assumed that he wanted to go ashore to pay a visit to a buxom female. Aubrey may have looked aside to hide his grin, but Stephen had seen it nevertheless. His smile faded when he remembered the concern in Aubrey's voice. It still touched him to be so valued, and he had hastened to add that he would _present himself the next morning, or the morning after that - a whole series of mornings, if need be._

Stephen also remembered James Dillon's harsh words about the short way from prize-money to breaking bulk and plunder, thereby misjudging Aubrey so completely. Stephen had defended the captain, but his friend had talked on and on about discipline, as if he did not wish to hear one good thing about the commander of _Sophie_.

He could no longer make out the sea below and he realized only then that dusk had fallen and turned the pines into mysterious shades. They were the ever-present guardians of the country and Stephen knew them well. They had often provided shade on his walks across the country. He got up, absentmindedly brushing at the seat of his breeches, and breathed deeply before setting out to find some shelter within the remains of the Roman villa.

A little after sunrise the next morning, and the next and the next, he walked to the beach at the agreed time, but there were no boats, no Sophies, and most of all, there was no Jack Aubrey. Stephen hoped that nothing untoward had happened to the little ship which had been his home for some time. How easy it had been for him to get used to the company of others in the past months! He felt strange as he walked from the beach towards the path. Only a few days ago he had been glad of time alone and without Naval discipline, and now he missed the _Sophie_ and her men.

He slowly made his way to the ruin, turning now and again to scan the horizon for the sloop, but to no avail. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a big flattish stone with a number of scratches lying to the side of the path. He picked it up, squinted at the lines undoubtedly carved with a knife and made out _Regrediar_ , a date and the initials _JA_. It was a shame that he had missed the ship's party, but the short message was a sure sign that he had not been forgotten. Stephen turned the stone this way and that, unable to fathom why Jack Aubrey had felt the need to leave the message in Latin.

 _I shall return_ ; these words, holding the promise of friendship and a future in which he would not be alone, brought a flush of pleasure within his bosom. He again remembered their conversation about fresh water. Admittedly Aubrey had not looked his best then, had really been _a disagreeable sight, for the left side of his face, head and neck was still seared a baboonish red and blue, it shone under Stephen's medicated grease, and through the grease rose a new frizz of yellow hair; all this, taken with his deep brown, shaved other cheek, gave him a wicked, degenerate, inverted look._ But his eyes had been as blue and brilliant as they always were and J.A. possessed such a singularly sweet smile when he was delighted. 

A few days would surely pass before _Sophie_ returned, so Stephen felt he might as well make the most of his free time by going to Tarragona, where several members of his large and sprawling Catalan family and various acquaintances lived. His mind made up, he put the stone into his bag and walked briskly away from the ruins towards the road leading into the large city. The morning air shimmered around him, already distorting the lines of the horizon. 

An ox-cart rumbled past and then stopped, and the driver, having asked Stephen the where-from and where-to, offered him a seat. The peasant may have been looking for some company on his long way to the city market. Before long they discovered acquaintances they had in common, and so they passed the time amiably enough, stopping at a well just past a small village where they rested and where the farmer shared bread, cheese, olives and wine with Stephen.

Once in the city, they bid each other a good day and Stephen threaded his way through the narrow side-streets near the cathedral towards the home of his Tarragona relatives, where la seva Tieta Nuria was delighted to welcome him. While his aunt brought out wine, fruit and bread, she asked him what he had been doing these past years and what had brought him here, without leaving him time for a reply.

'Esteve, you have not visited for so long, I will not let you leave before the month is out. Your cousins have near forgot what you look like, and I will not hear any argument from you.' She shook her finger at him as if he were still the small boy she had known two decades ago, and told the kitchen maid to bring out ham, cold chicken, butter, more cheese and honey and to set the table well. She would never condone having guests stand up from an empty table. She then told Stephen that his uncle was out on business and would not be expected before the evening.

Another thought occurred to her. ‘You did like music, did you not? They will be performing Palestrina’s _Missa Brevis_ at the Cathedral. One of your uncle’s friends will be arriving shortly, and he will have come a long way just to attend the concert, as will you, yes?’ She did not wait for a reply and continued telling her nephew about the visitor, a part-English, part-Catalan merchant from Barcelona.

Stephen only smiled and nodded, never getting the chance for a word in edgeways, not that he expected it, as he knew his aunt well and loved her even if she was talkative and delighted in jumping from one subject to the other. 

She cocked an ear towards the door, and sure enough they heard several forceful knocks. She excused herself and went into the large hallway where she greeted the visitor with her usual cheerfulness. ‘John, how delighted I am to see you. Do take off that coat; did you not find it too hot to wear one? You know that you must not stand on ceremony in this house, after all we regard you as a brother.’ Stephen heard a deep male voice but could only make out his aunt’s words when she sent a servant out to run and tell his master of merchant Somerville’s arrival.

*****  
When Stephen climbed into bed, the sun was not far from rising. He had stayed up with En Jordi and his friend well after his aunt had excused herself and gone to bed. He liked what he saw in John Somerville, who showed pride in being the fourth generation of a family of Barcelona merchants.

Stephen had explained that he was working as ship’s surgeon in the English Royal Navy. That had at first raised a few eyebrows and then his uncle had nodded gravely, but without saying anything, and Somerville had stayed silent, too.

Later, Stephen had noticed a look pass between his uncle and his friend, but dismissed it when they continued talking about their varying businesses. Stephen’s thoughts had wandered and again he felt an undercurrent in their conversation, as if subjects were being left unsaid because of his presence. 

He thought about it again as he went to bed. He had been away for years and they did not know if he was to be trusted. Maybe he was being too suspicious only because his feelings were tainted by the time he had been concerned in the Irish rising almost three years ago, together with his family and friends on the island? His thoughts became muddled just before sleep claimed him.

The next day passed pleasantly enough, Stephen roaming the city, visiting other relatives and looking in on childhood friends. In honour of Somerville, or so he had explained, En Jordi had invited business friends and their families from all over the city for the evening. There was food and drink a-plenty and artists were performing traditional songs and classical chamber music out on the patio, all of which formed part of a relaxed atmosphere with numerous friendly conversations, even though nobody said anything memorable or profound.

In a quiet corner, Stephen explained to Somerville about the wonderful variety of birds he had seen while going about the city, the merchant throwing in a question here and there, showing his interest in Stephen’s observations. At some stage the agreeable conversation turned to more personal topics, though without being intrusive.

At first, Somerville touched lightly on some difficulties to his business arising from the fact that his family came from a half-English half-Catalan background. This had been regarded with a certain amount of suspicion by the Castilians ever since they deserted their English allies and joined the French side in the year ’97.

The merchant voiced his bitterness _about the French armies that had burnt Montserrat and ravaged towns, villages, and even remote isolated mountain farms, destroying, raping, and murdering._ ‘Forgive me; I should not have burdened you with something that happened a long time ago.’ Somerville breathed deeply and, with slightly artificial cheerfulness, changed the topic of their conversation. ‘What say you to another glass of wine? Let us talk about the Palestrina at the Cathedral. The _Missa Brevis_ has not been performed for some time and I so long to hear it again.’ The merchant leaned forward, appraising Stephen out of clear grey eyes. ‘You are a musician yourself, I find?’

‘I am afraid I only scrape away a bit on my cello, mainly Corelli and Locatelli. Not long ago I had the opportunity to hear Locatelli’s charming quartet in C major. Never before in my life had I heard a better quartetto – such unity, such fire. Indeed, like you, I am immensely looking forward to hearing the _Missa_. I cannot in honesty say that I have heard it more than once and that only in my youth.’

Somerville’s eyes sparkled, obviously full of pleasure to have someone share his taste in music. ‘I am also partial to Locatelli. Such agreeable compositions! I admit that I have not heard of this particular quartet. How I envy you that opportunity. Please to tell me more about that concert, if that is not too impertinent a request.’

‘Not at all, not at all.’ And Stephen explained the movements, not only because it was always a joy to speak of music to a like mind, but also because it was a subject far away from personal matters. From then on, their talk touched on various and widely different subjects.

Again it was rather early morning than late night when Stephen sank into his pillows, and like the night before, sleep did not come easily as he contemplated on some of his conversation with the merchant. To him, the man seemed more than an industrious merchant, and his words about the French armies and the Castilians’ betrayal of former allies had touched a chord within Stephen and reminded him of the cause of his Irish brothers. Could it be that Somerville was a member of the Catalan Brotherhood? No, certainly not. Surely, a merchant would only be interested in his business?

He woke up with the sun in his face. While splashing water on it he recalled the previous night’s conversation and, being wide awake now, realized that Somerville had not been as much into his cups as he had wanted Stephen to believe. He realized in afterthought that the merchant appeared to have sounded him out, as if he needed to know whether this ship’s surgeon was to be trusted. Only, trusted with what?

*****  
In the afternoon, when the sun was no longer shining from a blazing sky, En Jordi proposed they should take the air in the park not far from the cathedral, as he would like to speak of more personal matters. They walked for a long time in companionable silence. Once, between the pines, Stephen’s uncle asked how he had come to serve in the English Royal Navy: after all, part of his family was Irish and from what had come down through family contacts it seemed he had been sympathetic to Irish independence, or was that not so?

Stephen considered his reply carefully before he explained how he had come to be surgeon aboard _Sophie_. He also spoke of John Aubrey, her commander, who, though English, showed a high sense of honour and duty and with whom he shared his taste in music.

‘He is your friend, then?” asked his uncle. 

‘Friend?” repeated Stephen, as if he had not previously seen Jack in that light. He was silent for a while; then he remembered the concern in the commander’s voice before Stephen had gone ashore, and the message left for him on the beach, carved on the stone that now lay on his bedside table. _I shall return_. ‘Indeed, he is my friend.’ Stephen smiled, now secure in this, his new-found knowledge.

En Jordi nodded and breathed deeply, as if he had come to a decision. ‘How to begin? It is not easy for me to speak to you of matters that should be kept in secrecy. But I will trust you. After all, you are family, you were concerned with the Rising in Ireland and indeed I feel certain that you would also like to see Catalonia free from the Castilian oppression.’

Stephen nodded gravely and then listened as his uncle spoke about the Germandat and the _Catalans’ hatred for the appalling successes of Buonaparte's campaigns_.

‘I think you might wish to speak to John Somerville, just as he is impatient to speak to you. I feel you have much in common, and he may show you how and where to be helpful in bringing that Corsican monster down.’

The more he listened to En Jordi, the more Stephen realized _that the only hope for Europe was an English victory, which must be won at sea; and that this victory was a necessary condition for both Catalan autonomy and Irish independence._ He agreed wholeheartedly to his uncle’s proposal, and in the evening En Jordi left Somerville and Stephen alone to arrange matters between them.

*****  
Stephen sat in one of the back benches in the Cathedral, and his spirit floated on the Sanctus et Benedictus and he found himself wishing for his friend. Admittedly, Jack Aubrey had a tendency to beat the measure in the air with one of his hands, and sometimes he was half a beat ahead, but the short time they had known each other had already taught Stephen that sharing music with his friend would double their pleasure.

Last night Somerville had explained to him about his superior, an English intelligence agent, much esteemed by the chief of naval intelligence in London. Stephen had foreseen the offer to become a member of the intelligence service and asked for the night to contemplate on it. As a sign of trust the merchant had then given him the information that _Sophie_ was sweeping the coast as a companion to the _San Fiorenzo_ , which explained why Aubrey had been unable to meet Stephen on the first morning.

He spent the night deep in thought, but with the arrival of the dawn chorus he had made up his mind to become a voluntary member. He very much wanted to see Bonaparte brought down, but he would not sell himself; taking money would only cheapen the cause. 

He and Somerville met over the breakfast table, where they found themselves alone. En Jordi had been called away on business and Tieta Nuria bustled about instructing the maids in their preparations for the evening’s sumptuous meal.

Stephen poured himself a large mug of coffee and addressed himself to the merchant. ‘I agree to your proposal, but it must always be clear to you and your superiors that I volunteer. I will not accept money. Bonaparte must be defeated.’

‘I see,’ Somerville rumbled, ‘and I will make certain your conditions are heard and heeded.’ Then he spoke of one Mateu, a wealthy man dealing in contraband, who had been so angered by some of the actions against his ships and the damage he had sustained, that he had paid a ship of force to pursue the _Sophie_. He proposed to introduce Stephen to one of the man’s relatives. They would meet the cousin tomorrow before church, as he was a patron and lover of Palestrina’s music.

Sure, it was easy for Stephen to strike up a most agreeable conversation with Ramon Mateu i Cadafalch on the steps of the cathedral, with the sun warming the morning air around them. They mentioned Victoria and spoke of details of Lasso’s _Missa Osculetur me Osculo_ in comparison to the _Missa Brevis_ they were about to hear.

Then, after church, it was only natural that they join the circle for the Sardana. While Stephen and Mateu I Cadafalch placed their steps to the music played by the cobla they continued to talk of this and that and, with only a minimum of prompting, Stephen heard all about the protection of the coasting trade. As Somerville had suggested, this made it easy for Stephen, who would now be able to give Jack this information without arousing suspicion.

After breakfast on Monday morning Stephen said his farewells, trying to console Tieta Nuria who vowed never to forgive him if he took twenty years to visit them again. He exchanged a firm handshake and a nod with Somerville before he set out to return to the beach.

It was late when he arrived at the Roman villa. He was thirsty, hungry and hot by then, and was glad for the cool water nearby. He had surely drunk a pint before he settled on a stone, took off his shoes and stockings and cooled his feet in the creek. Then he took out the parcel of bread, cheese and olives which his aunt had put into his bag. He looked at the package, thinking that its contents would feed the five thousand…or Jack Aubrey, he added in his mind. 

After sunset he settled in his previous shelter near a still sturdy and solid wall and took out the stone that he had kept all the time. _I shall return_. Stephen sighed. He hoped that _Sophie_ would arrive at sunrise tomorrow or within the next few days. He would tell Aubrey about the Sardana. His friend had surely never travelled in Catalonia. ‘How astonished he will be to hear that people of all ages and conditions dance, on coming out of church,’ he said to himself. The thought of Jack Aubrey’s likely reaction to this revelation amused him, and so he fell into slumber, smiling.

Two days later Stephen woke to noise and commotion nearby. He looked down to the beach and saw the boat and seamen. Recognizing them as Sophies, he scooped up his bag and stepped briskly down the path. He slowed before walking out of the trees to meet the jolly-boat because, since he was not a mere surgeon but a physician, he felt that he had a reputation to maintain. It would not do for the men to see him uncommon eager to rejoin.

When he had groped his way aboard, pushed and pulled by well-meaning hands, he could not help but flush with pleasure at everybody’s friendliness and Aubrey’s equally open welcome. His friend, bless him, had held back breakfast on purpose so they could share it.

_‘How do you find yourself?’ asked Jack. ‘Tolerably spry, I hope? Tolerably spry?'_

_Stephen smiled and replied, ‘I am very well, I thank you. I will take a look at my sick-bay and then I will share your bacon with the utmost pleasure._


End file.
